CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
“I’ll give you that information if you survive the second challenge.”
I lower my voice to the barest whisper. “One would think someone who wanted me to kill the emperor would do everything they could to make sure I survive.”
He waves me off. “The Primus. You’ve been close to him.”
“As you planned.”
Bran just smiles. A silent admission that he knew who Tiernon was to me. “Have you seen him meeting with anyone?”
“He meets with people all the time.”
Bran leans closer. “Has he been talking to Rorrik?”
A strange, cold sensation settles on the back of my neck. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. I see the Primus for a few hours each day. How could I possibly be sure?”
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
“White isn’t your color. You look like a corpse.”
Bran’s eyes widen and twin spots of pink appear on his cheeks. His hand twitches like he’s restraining himself from hitting me.
“Remember, it’s not just your life you’re fighting for tomorrow,” he snaps. “It’s the life of your brother as well.”
He stalks away. I watch him go. There’s something … different about him. The remote, aloof vampire I first met would never have come that close to lashing out.
LEON IS SPEAKING with Albion when I arrive at the training hall before my challenge the next morning. Albion looks tired and drained, while Leon’s expression is even harder than usual.
I reach down, swiping a training sword. “What’s wrong?”
“Another gladian was found dead this morning,” Leon says. “Her name was Sochal.”
Tolva’s friend. My heart sinks. A woman was missing. A woman who slept in the same barracks as me, and I didn’t even notice.
Albion runs a hand over his face. “Something must be done about this.”
Leon merely picks up a shield, handing it to me. “Warm up for your challenge.”
I curse him out while I do my laps. I’m trying, Kas, but your father is even more stubborn than he used to be.
My shield arm aches within my first few laps, but I focus on watching the others warm up. My stamina is slowly returning. While my arm still shakes, straining to hold my parma up, I actually enjoy the first half of my sprints.
An hour later, I’m walking down the long corridor between the ludus and the arena once more, my heart lodged firmly in my throat.
Baldric and Hester walk closely behind me, but I refuse to turn my head.
“I hope I get to fight you,” Hester says, purposefully stepping on the backs of my heels. “The emperor will probably give me his favor for killing you so quickly.”
“Quiet,” one of the enforcers orders. Unfortunately, Hester is smart enough to close her mouth.
We’re directed into one of the small holding rooms beneath the arena. Whatever the emperor has in store for us today, he wants it to be a surprise.
Even from here, we can hear the crowd roar.
But it’s not just the crowd that’s roaring.
“Is that … a lion?” Kaeso asks.
A symphony of screams cuts through the sound of the crowd. High-pitched, and pain-filled. The screams of the dying.
I catch Hester’s smile, and it takes everything in me not to shove my sword through her throat.
“It’s a manticore,” she says. “A special treat for those who refuse to bow to the emperor.” Her smile widens as her eyes meet mine. “I can’t wait to hear your screams.”
“Give it a rest,” Maeva mutters, and Hester turns her hate-filled gaze toward her. Her eyes light up, and I know why.
Dark circles are stark against the white of Maeva’s face. Her cheekbones seem sharper, her cheeks hollow, as if she’s stopped eating. She looks like one swing of a sword would take her down.
Guilt slices through me. After our harsh words the other day, we’ve mostly avoided each other. At least, I’ve avoided her. Each time I’ve thought about approaching her, I remembered the wounded look in her eyes, and the restrained disgust in her voice.
You’re so … cold. Does life truly hold such little meaning to you?
Tolva sits at the edge of the room, her arms crossed tightly, head bowed. Gradon sits next to her, murmuring something in her ear. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a dark beard, which he keeps neatly trimmed. Laugh lines fan out from the corners of his eyes, although I’ve never seen him smile.
Hester turns her poisonous attention to Tolva, and Gradon gives her a narrow-eyed stare.
An enforcer appears. “Hester Volker and Turran Pinarius.”
Turran may be a vampire, but he’s young—and with those suppression cuffs around his wrists, he’s as weak and powerless as we are. His mouth thins into a grim line and he swallows, following Hester out of the room.
“Dead vampire walking,” Baldric calls after him, and Maeva’s face turns another shade paler.
I shouldn’t distract myself with Maeva’s problems. I have more than enough of my own.
And yet …
She just defended me to Hester. It’s something Maeva does a lot, even though I can tell she has no expectation that I’ll do the same.
“You’re not sleeping,” I murmur.
She shrugs. “Every time I close my eyes I see the criminals forced to fight. I see that centaur …”
“You’ve never seen the emperor have his fun before? I thought your father …”
“He never brought me here. Too ashamed.” She touches her sigil.
“I guess that was a good thing.”
“I guess so.” She contemplates me, and a hint of something I can’t place flickers across her face. Leaning close, she drops her voice until it’s little more than a whisper. “I did some research. I know where the centaurs are kept. And the other maginari the emperor has caged.”
“Where?”
She casts a look down at her feet. And then nods her head when I don’t immediately get it.
Oh.
Beneath us. In the bowels of the arena.
I close my eyes. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about doing anything stupid.”
When I open my eyes, her pale, stricken expression tells me she’s doing more than thinking about it. She’s actively making plans.
“I need your help,” she says.
I let out a bark of laughter that has several gladians turning our way. “You want to die? You’re on your own.”
Her expression falls, but I’m already walking away.
“Maeva Virnia and Cassius Ruso,” a guard calls.
I whirl, my last words to her already looping through my mind.
“Maeva.”
She turns her head, and her eyes are wet. My chest aches.
“You’re going to win this.”
A single sharp nod, and then she’s gone.
I lean against the stone wall and close my eyes. The other gladians are quiet. Someone vomits noisily in the corner at one point, and I barely contain my own heaves.
I strain, attempting to decipher the screams and roars of the crowd, but there’s no way to know what’s happening.
Another guard appears. Two more gladians are called. Only a few of us remain. But it’s impossible to know who made it through.
I pace restlessly. The waiting is the worst part. I just need this over with. Need—
“Arvelle Dacien and Baldric Volker.”
Across the room, Baldric’s eyes meet mine, and a slow smile spreads over his face.